Clean
by FreyaCat
Summary: The aftermath of battle is always a dirty affair. Follow some of the heroes as they try to wash the stain of Titans from themselves and each other.


'_Ugh…my stomach is killing me,' _she thought sourly. _'What kind of person gets hungry after the crap that happened today? I must be defective or something.'_

Sasha pressed a fist into her stomach, trying to calm the sickening roll of the morning's meager breakfast. She berated herself for eating anything at all before they had ridden out, having known in the shadowy corners of her mind what horrors she would be encountering that day. But then, Titans always brought such horrors. She should have known what the mission would cost the team, what it would cost her deep down in the most fragile parts of her heart and mind. As heart wrenching as it had been, she'd known as soon as the orders were passed down that not all of them would live to see the inside of the Wall once more.

Today had ended worse than most. They hadn't even lasted an hour.

'_God,' _she growled silently, _'first Reiner, Bertholt, and Ymir. Now all of these Titans appearing so close to Wall Rose. What the hell is going on? I don't like this at all.'_

She could still hear the pained screams of her comrades as they slid down the putrid gullets of the giant man eaters. Some cried for their families, others begged for mercy and some like her partner Adler, had cursed and fought all the way down. She could still see the hysterical panic that had overtaken his big green eyes when the creature had caught him, and hear the zing of his blades whipping through the air, trying anything to escape. She nearly choked as guilt weighed down on her shoulders.

'_If only I had seen him sooner,' _her mind cried, _'I might have been able to save him.'_

As it stood, she had only arrived in time to watch the last of his boots disappear behind a wall of sharp, rotten teeth, and to be showered with a gut turning mixture of his blood and Titan spit. She looked up and blinked hard, thanking her lucky stars that Connie had been there to kill the twelve meter demon, lest she'd have followed Adler as dessert.

Sasha gulped, attempting to force the painful lump in her throat back down. She searched blandly through the kitchen cabinets, hoping to find anything to settle the greasy nausea rolling through her. She spied a small, opened bag of soup crackers, and reached up to grab it, only to freeze when she saw the sticky red blood coating her knuckles. Cold sweat broke out along her brow as she felt the layer of gore and Titan drool stretch and crackle over the tender skin at the back of her hand. Adler's face suddenly and vividly flashed before her eyes, and she clapped a dirty, sleeved arm to her mouth, unable to hold down what little food hadn't digested yet.

'_Oh, God, the smell. I can't take that smell.'_

She sprinted to the sink, making it just as the first stream of sick passed her lips.

.

.

.

Connie blew out a heavy sigh as he padded to the kitchen. After the shit storm that had befallen the Scouts that morning, he wanted only three things: food, shower, and a three day coma, in that order. He sniffled, his heart heavy with the weight of the day's casualties. He cursed the Titans once more, angrily swiping at a tear as it escaped his thick, black lashes. Adler's face swam before his eyes, and he choked back the sob that wanted desperately to barrel past his clenched teeth.

'_Curse those bastards,' _he thought viciously. _'It's just not fair!'_

The harsh thump of his combat boots resonated through the dark halls of the castle, as he headed for the pantry, and a quick snack to stifle the queasy hunger in his belly. After that, he planned to head to the bathroom and scrub every part of himself repeatedly, until the top layer of his skin was gone. He rolled his shoulders, shuddering at the crunch of dried blood on the back of his neck. He rounded the corner, his body slick with sweat and wracked with tremors, and caught site of something he hadn't expected to encounter.

His eyes widened as he took in Sasha, bent over the sink, losing her precious breakfast. His body went on autopilot as he ran to her side, and pulled the hair that had escaped her pony tail away from her mouth. As she wretched, he cooed little nothing words to her, rubbing soft circles on her back with his free hand, until finally the spasms subsided and she stood panting like a dog over the embarrassing remains still puddling in the sink. Quietly, he shifted forward and switched the taps on, brushing loose curls behind her ears, as the water washed away the rest. After a few seconds, she sagged against him, and the dam of shock holding her tears at bay finally burst. With each sob, her knees grew weaker, until finally Connie caught her, taking her weight, just to keep her standing.

"C…Conniiiiie,' she wailed miserably, fisting a bloody, shaking hand in the dirty fabric of his shirt.

His arms tightened around her little shoulders, tucking her firmly against his chest as his own vision grew hazy with unshed tears. His fingers threaded through the sweaty silk of her hair, and the elastic holding the last of the dirty strands up fell unceremoniously to the floor. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a ratty clump, and from it the overwhelming stench of Titan spit wafted up around them, turning both of their stomachs. Connie pushed her back slightly, no longer able to take the cadaverous stink of the beasts so close to his nose. Sasha looked at him, lost and a little hurt by his sudden rejection, but he merely shook his head, a tiny smile curving his cold lips.

"It's not you, potato girl," he said softly. "It's just, I can't take the reek of them anymore. It seems like it's fucking everywhere these days. I don't want it on you. It…it doesn't belong on you. You always smell so pretty."

Even through her tears, her cheeks tinted a rosy pink, and the raspy timbre of his voice set her heart to kicking.

"Thanks," she whispered. Unthinkingly, she brought up her hand to wipe the trail of silvery tears and snot that ran down her face.

Suddenly, she froze, and her face twisted as a fresh wave of agony passed through her as both of their eyes settled on the crusted ooze that still sat on her hands, a macabre service medal. As he realized the cause of her distress, Connie squeezed her arms, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air before hauling her up against him once again. The smell still pervaded her usually sweet scent, but he forced himself to bare it as broken words and pleas began to bubble up from under her cries.

"Sasha," he asked. "Come on, potato girl, calm down, yea? I can't understand you."

"Connie," she gasped, "get it off me."

"What," he asked pushing her back once again, though he kept a tight hold on her shoulders.

"The blood," she sobbed. "All this blood. Please get it off me, Connie, I can't…I can't."

"Okay," he crooned. "Okay, Sasha. Come here."

He led her to the sink, roughly yanking the water taps open. At once, she pressed her hips hard into the cold stone lip of the counter top, shoving her trembling palms under the warm flow of the water. She sniffled and trained her gaze on the ceiling, refusing to look as the dried top layer of gore softened into a mushy paste, drizzling down the sides of her hands and wrists to fall in the sink with meaty _plops_.

Connie stepped up behind her, the leather of their boots squeaking slightly, as the inside of his ankles rubbed against the outside of hers. Both soldiers quivered terribly as Connie reached for the small jar of soap on the back rim of the sink. He cursed as his hand slipped and the little jar tipped over, spilling pearlescent white liquid all over her hands. Gently, he pressed himself into her back, wrapping his arms around her. His rough, warm hands encircled her tiny, freezing fingers and methodically began to massage the soap into the patches of filth that marred her velvety tanned skin.

He focused solely on her, watching for any signs that she might lose consciousness. Her erratic breathing began to worry him, and doing the only thing he could think to do, he turned his mouth into her ear. Purposely, he deepened his own breathing, creating a slow rhythm for her to follow. She did just that, pulling deep breaths in through her nose, and exhaling through her mouth. He poured himself into his task, trying to block out the horrific images that assaulted him as the cloudy water swirled down the drain. As the top few coats washed away, and the soap turned into suds, the hysterical cries and teeth knocking shudders that had plagued Sasha began to subside, and her sobs faded into sniffles.

The beat of his heart was strong on her shoulder blade, and she zoned in on it, feeling the steady pulse of it echo in her body. Warmth slowly returned to her limbs, and the feel of his life force knocking into her skin steadied her knees. Connie, with all his strength and optimism, was the balm she needed to heal the scars from a world full of death and violence. She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, and was pleasantly astounded when he brushed a feather soft kiss at her temple.

After a few minutes, she gradually began to relax into his chest. Her breathing slowed, nearly matching his as she focused on the little circles he was making on her knuckles with the calloused pads of his thumbs. She chanced a look down at their hands, relieved to see that they were obscured by suds. She flinched at the sudden sensation of his nails gently scraping the skin under her nails, and was suddenly intensely grateful that he had not overlooked that little detail. The heat of the water relaxed them, and as the tension left them, the strength born of desperate adrenaline seemed to bleed from the soles of their feet.

Eventually, Connie sluggishly lifted her hands from the sink full of bubbles and pushed them under the warm water. Sasha stared as the water erased the last physical traces of the nightmares they'd seen, trailing her eyes blankly up the strong lines of Connie's arms. She perused the rips in his sleeves, and the filth covering both skin and fabric, and suddenly felt guilty.

"Connie," she said lowly as he turned off the taps, "I'm sorry. You must be so tired, and I here I am making you take care of me like this."

"Aw hush, Sasha," Connie said through an exhausted grin. "It's really nothing to do this. Plus, I was planning on hitting the showers anyway. Just saved me a little extra cleaning. You should probably do the same. Hell, the whole regiment is probably gonna be there before long."

She smiled up at him, trying not to lean too much of her weight on his overtaxed body, and planned to do just as he had suggested.

"Thank you," she said sweetly.

"Anytime, potato girl," he whispered.

They turned, walking close to each other's sides as they headed off to collect their various toiletries. Sasha looked up at her comrade, her friend, and wondered if the feelings she'd experienced in his arms were mutual, and if they would result in anything.

"Connie," she said, "isn't their anything else I can do to repay you for being so nice?"

He looked down at her, nearly cringing at her battle worn appearance, but still felt a tell-tale heat flooding his cheeks. Even broken hearted and completely grubby, she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The feel of her in his arms was something that he dearly hoped he would be able to experience again; but, for now, exhaustion, hunger, and a nearly suffocating sadness were pressing too heavily on his mind. There would be time for normal things like awkward first dates later.

"Well," he said on a sigh, "if your stomach is settled, you can always make us a snack after we get this crap off of us. That would be repayment enough."

"Deal," she said on a smile.


End file.
